American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

Lynn sat at his desk, Eileen Shaw's information displayed on the computer screen in front of him. He had been staring at this information for hours, his eyes were aching terribly, but he didn't want to stop.

Erin Shaw, 42, was born in Greenwich, Connecticut, an affluent suburban town. Her family ran a mid-sized pharmaceutical company, which was acquired by a larger corporation when she was 28, leaving her a substantial inheritance. She then dedicated herself to philanthropy, establishing the Shaw Foundation, which focuses on education and medical assistance.

On the surface, this is a perfect resume of high society.

But Lynn knew that there was always more hidden beneath the surface.

He opened another folder containing scattered information he had gathered from various databases. Erin Shaw had attended countless charity events over the past decade, but her private life was almost entirely opaque. No husband, no children, no public romances. Her social circle seemed extensive, but closer analysis revealed that she had very few truly close friends.

What's even more suspicious is that there are always some "coincidences" happening wherever she appears.

Three years ago, a city councilor who opposed a land development plan abruptly changed his stance after a lunch meeting with the Shaw Foundation. Two years ago, the editor-in-chief of a small media company investigating pharmaceutical industry misconduct announced he was dropping the investigation after speaking with Erin Shaw at a charity dinner. A year ago, a businessman who had planned to run for state senator abruptly withdrew from the race after a brief appearance at a Shaw Foundation fundraising event.

Each thing alone is insignificant. People change their minds all the time.

But when these things come together around the same person, they become noteworthy.

Lynn rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. The clock on the wall showed it was past one in the morning. He should be home, but his apartment was empty, and the refrigerator contained only expired milk and moldy bread. By comparison, he felt more comfortable staying in the office.

His gaze fell on a framed photo on the corner of the table. It was a picture taken a few years ago, showing him and his former partner, Jack Morris, standing in front of the FBI Academy gates, both dressed in graduation attire, their faces radiating the youthful exuberance typical of young people.

Jack died in an operation two years ago. A drug dealer's bullet pierced his bulletproof vest and struck his heart. Lynn watched him fall, powerless to stop him.

Since then, Lynn has not liked having a partner.

But now, Sarah Connors is his new partner. He's not sure how he feels about it.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the office, followed by a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Lynn said, his voice hoarse from not speaking for a long time.

The door opened, and Sarah walked in. She had changed out of the red dress she wore to the dinner party, and was now wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers, her hair tied in a ponytail. She was carrying two cups of coffee.

“I guessed you were still here,” she said, placing one of the coffees in front of Lynn. “I just bought it from the convenience store downstairs. It’s not very good, but at least it’ll keep you awake.”

“Thank you,” Lynn said, taking the coffee and taking a sip. It didn’t taste very good, but the caffeine helped clear his head a bit. “Why haven’t you gone back yet?”

“My apartment is under renovation, so I’m temporarily staying at a hotel near the station,” Sarah said, sitting down in the chair opposite him. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come check on things. Any progress?”

Lynn turned the computer screen towards her. “Eileen Shaw. On the surface, she's a philanthropist, but too many ‘coincidences’ happen around her. Every time someone contacts her and changes their mind, it's in a way that benefits her.”

Sarah glanced at the information on the screen, her brow furrowing slightly. "You think she's using telepathy to manipulate these people?"

“I can’t be sure, but it’s the most plausible explanation,” Lynn said. “The problem is, we don’t have any concrete evidence. Mind manipulation doesn’t leave physical traces, and the victim might not even know they’ve been manipulated.”

"And Malcolm? He seemed quite afraid of her at the dinner party."

“I noticed that too,” Lynn nodded. “Malcolm is a successful businessman who’s been in the business world for decades. He’s seen all kinds of rivals. Anything that can frighten someone like that must be extraordinary.”

Do you think he was coerced? Or controlled?

“It could be both,” Lynn said. “If Erin Shaw is indeed a member of the Brotherhood, or even one of their leaders, she might have used her psychic abilities to control Malcolm and make him serve the Brotherhood. But at the same time, she might have also allowed him to retain enough self-awareness to understand the consequences of rebellion.”

Sarah paused for a moment, processing this information. "So, what's our next step?"

“Continue the investigation,” Lynn said. “I want to find that Dominic Pietro and see what connection he has with Shaw. Also, we need—”

His words were interrupted by a cell phone ringing.

Lynn took his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. It was a number he didn't recognize, but the area code was an internal line from the bureau.

“Ashford.” He answered the phone.

“Agent Lynn,” a young man’s voice came through the phone, sounding somewhat nervous, “this is Thomson, the duty officer at command center. Deputy Director Morrison asked me to contact you; he says there’s an urgent mission.”

Lynn glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:20 AM. What kind of mission required an urgent notification at this time?

"What mission?"

“I’m not entirely clear on the specifics,” Thomson said, “but the deputy director said you and Agent Connors need to come to his office immediately. He said it’s a major case.”

Lynn and Sarah exchanged a glance.

"We'll be there soon."

He hung up the phone and stood up. His joints were making a slight cracking sound from sitting for so long, but he didn't care.

“Let’s go,” he said to Sarah. “Looks like we won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

Morrison's office was on the top floor of the building, a spacious corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls offering panoramic views of Manhattan at night. But at this moment, the curtains were drawn, and the office was filled only with the dim light of a desk lamp.

Morrison sat behind his desk, several documents spread out in front of him, his expression more serious than usual. His suit jacket was casually draped over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was loose—details indicating that he hadn't slept that night either.

“Sit,” Morrison gestured for them to sit in the chairs opposite him, then pushed a document toward them. “Take a look at this.”

Lynn picked up the document and quickly glanced through it.

“At the Greenwood Chemical Plant in Newark, New Jersey, at 11:43 p.m., an explosion occurred, and the entire plant was engulfed in flames. The confirmed death toll is 17, with more than 30 injured, 12 of whom are in serious condition. Firefighters are still battling the blaze and expect it to be fully under control by tomorrow morning.”

“Was this an accident?” Sarah asked. “No,” Morrison said. “According to the preliminary investigation, the explosion was deliberate. Someone planted a bomb in the main storage area of ​​the chemical plant, detonating the stored chemicals.”

Lynn continued reading. "I feel like I've seen the name Greenwood Chemical Plant somewhere before."

“It’s a subsidiary of Malcolm Industries,” Morrison said. “One of Richard Malcolm’s businesses.”

Lynn suddenly looked up and met Morrison's gaze.

"Malcolm?"

“Yes,” Morrison nodded, “the person you observed at the dinner party tonight. A coincidence? I don’t think so.”

“Wait,” Sarah interrupted, “if this was an attack targeting Malcolm, why bomb his chemical plant? Why not just take him out on him?”

“That’s the problem,” Morrison said. “This explosion wasn’t just targeting Malcolm. That chemical plant has a secret underground facility, not registered in official records. Based on our current information, that facility was used to produce some kind of special substance.”

"What substance?"

Morrison paused for a moment, seemingly considering how much to say. “An inhibitor,” he finally said, “an inhibitor specifically for mutants.”

There was silence in the room.

Lynn's mind raced back to the limiter Victor wore around his neck. That device suppressed mutant abilities, rendering them harmless like ordinary people. If someone were mass-producing such a thing...
“You mean someone is secretly producing weapons for mutants?” he asked.

“It’s not just weapons,” Morrison said. “According to some intelligence we’ve intercepted, this inhibitor can be airborne. If released in densely populated areas, it could affect all mutants within a radius of several kilometers.”

“This is a weapon of mass destruction,” Sarah’s voice became serious, “a weapon of mass destruction targeting mutants.”

“Yes,” Morrison said, “and now, the factory that produced this weapon has been blown up. The question is, who did it? And why?”

Lynn considered the various possibilities. "They could be mutants," he said. "If they discover the true purpose of this factory, blowing it up is a reasonable option."

“That’s one possibility,” Morrison agreed, “but there’s another. What if the Brotherhood also knew about the factory, and they considered Malcolm no longer reliable?”

“They might choose to destroy the evidence,” Lynn finished, “while punishing Malcolm.”

“In either case, this is your case,” Morrison said. “I need you to leave for Newark tonight to investigate. The local police and fire department have been notified to cooperate with your work.”

“What about Eileen Shaw’s investigation?” Sarah asked.

“Let’s put this on hold for now,” Morrison said. “This explosion has made headlines on all the major news websites. Seventeen people are dead, and a chemical plant is burning—public attention is focused on this. We need to give an explanation as soon as possible, or at least some direction.”

Lynn looked at the documents in his hand, feeling somewhat resentful. He had just made some progress in his investigation of Eileen Shaw, but now he was being forced to turn to another case. But he also understood Morrison's considerations—a burning chemical plant and seventeen lives were, in any case, more urgent than a dubious philanthropist.

“I understand,” he said. “When do we leave?”

“Now,” Morrison said, “there’s a car waiting for you downstairs. Also, Lynn, there’s something I need to remind you of.”

"What?"

"This case is very sensitive. It involves mutants, weapons of mass destruction, and a businessman with intricate connections to both political and business circles. You need to proceed with caution and avoid stepping on landmines."

"Deputy Director, what if I discover that this explosion is related to the Brotherhood?"

Morrison's eyes deepened. "Then follow the clues, wherever they lead. But don't jump to conclusions until you have solid evidence. We need facts, not speculation."

"clear."

Lynn and Sarah stood up and walked towards the door.

“Lynn,” Morrison called after them, “there’s one more thing.”

Lynn turned her head.

“The X-Men might also be interested in this,” Morrison said. “If they contact you or show up at the scene, handle it carefully.”

Lynn nodded, then left the office with Sarah.

The streets of New York at 2 a.m. were much quieter than usual, but there were still vehicles on the road.

Lynn sat in the passenger seat, watching the city scenery rushing past the window. Neon signs, dim streetlights, the occasional passing taxi—everything was shrouded in the hazy atmosphere unique to the dead of night.

Sarah was driving, her hands firmly on the steering wheel, her eyes focused intently on the road ahead. She drove smoothly, without any reckless eagerness, but not overly cautious either. Lynn admired this style.

“Do you think this has anything to do with Erin Shaw?” Sarah broke the silence.

“Possibly,” Lynn said, “but it could also be completely unrelated. We have too little information right now.”

"Malcolm's factory was bombed the very night we were observing him. What a coincidence!"

“Perhaps,” Lynn said, “but coincidences do happen. We can’t assume causality just because the times are close.”

“You must have been the kind of student the instructors both loved and hated when you were at FBI Academy,” Sarah chuckled. “Always questioning everything.”

“Questioning is a good thing,” Lynn said. “Too many agents go astray by jumping to conclusions too early. I’d rather spend more time verifying than chase after a wrong lead.”

They drove onto the bridge leading to New Jersey. The Hudson River flowed below, its surface reflecting the city lights like scattered gold dust. In the distance, the silhouette of the Statue of Liberty was faintly visible in the night sky, her torch casting a soft glow. (End of Chapter)